


friday nights and the lights are low

by jemmasimmons



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Drunk Fic, F/M, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-27
Updated: 2015-07-27
Packaged: 2018-04-11 14:34:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,063
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4439255
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jemmasimmons/pseuds/jemmasimmons
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I can be fun!” she reiterated. “All types of fun.” Fitz raised an eyebrow. “Fine, I’ll prove it to you.”<br/>-<br/>After being called her boring, Jemma decides to prove everyone wrong and show she can be fun too. Thus ensues a wild night out with many a drunken mishap.</p>
            </blockquote>





	friday nights and the lights are low

**Author's Note:**

> \+ i can't believe i actually finished this!! this is the longest thing i have ever written and it took me so long im exhausted but hey here we are!!
> 
> \+ i can't remember how this idea actually came around, but it spawned the headcanon that fitz loves mamma mia and that is basically the best thing that has ever happened to me. i'm not kidding.
> 
> \+ this fic is completely ridiculous and i giggled to myself a lot whilst writing this. but i hope you enjoy this because i had a lot of fun coming up with this!!
> 
> \+ title from dancing queen by abba

Jemma let out another in a long line of sighs as her eyes flitted over the papers she’d been given to fill in. Fitz could hear her from across the room, and with each sigh his focus levels dropped and his mild irritation seemed to grow.

“What’s up?” he asked with traces of irritation lacing his tone.

“What?” Jemma peered up from her work for a second before returning to it almost as quickly, “Oh, nothing,” she said quietly.

“Simmons,” Fitz lowered his tone. “What’s up?”

“Nothing,” she muttered with a hint of irritation. “I’m fine. Honestly.”

Fitz wandered over to Jemma’s desk. Partly because he knew something was up, but also because he was fairly certain she had food that he might have been able to steal. “No you’re not. You’re doing that thing with your lip whenever you’re mildly angry at someone.”

“What lip thing?” she asked, rolling her eyes and holding out a muffin that she knew Fitz had had his eye on.

“You know… when you bite your lip and – there!” he pointed excitedly with a mouth full of muffin. “That lip thing!”

Jemma’s eyes remained on her paperwork but her lip retracted itself from her teeth. “I’m fine, Fitz.”

Fitz leant against her desk, his elbow resting on the top, and stared at Jemma with an arched brow. “Jemma,” his voice was soft but stern and it seemed to grab her attention.

Her eyes finally lifted themselves from her paperwork and she let out a small, exasperated huff. “Am I boring?”

“Boring?” his eyebrows knitted themselves together slightly. “Not in the least. Why – who said you were boring?” He took another bite of the muffin.

Jemma swivelled her chair so that she could face Fitz. “Skye,” she told him. “She says I’m boring and that I don’t have a life and that I should get out more.” She placed the last few words in quotation marks.

“So?”

“ _So,_ I need to show her I’m not boring –“

“But you’re not –“

“But what if other people think –“

“Does it really ma -”

“Yes!” Her posture had fallen slightly but she recomposed herself. “I can be fun!” she told him, her voice a few octaves higher than she intended.

Fitz pulled a face, “It depends what you mean by _fun_.”

“I can be fun!” she reiterated. “All types of fun.” Fitz raised an eyebrow. “Fine, I’ll prove it to you.”

“Oh really?”

“Yes!” her shoulders straightened themselves out as Fitz watched her confidence begin to reappear. “Meet me at the bar on Smith Street at seven. And oh, bring Trip with you.”

“Why?” Fitz reached out to grab another muffin but Jemma closed the tub before he could.

 “Why not?” she shrugged, jumping out of her chair with her paperwork and muffins in hand. “The more the merrier. Besides, there should be more people around witness how much fun I can be.” She bumped him lightly on the arm with her papers and left to exit the room, shouting “See you at seven,” just before she left and added “Don’t be late,” as she did.

 

 

 

 

 

At Jemma’s usual instance, Fitz and Trip had arrived on the dot to avoid any trouble. However they were shocked when Jemma and Skye arrived at the bar at promptly 7:08pm, earning them a small cheer from Trip when they arrived (finally).

“Sorry we’re late,” Jemma apologised with a rather smug gin plastered across her face as she slid into the booth next to Fitz.

Trip gave a knowing nod. He’d known Jemma long enough to realise what her game was (and also Fitz had briefly filled him in on the situation before they had arrived). “Well,” he rubbed his hands together, “looks like we can finally get the party started!”

“First round’s on me!” Jemma announced, earning her cheers from Trip and Skye – who decides before anyone can get a word in that they’re all doing shots.

Fitz questioned her choice with a raised eyebrow. “Says who?”

“Says me, Inspector Gadget. Whoever does the most shots wins.” Skye turned to Fitz, “Or are you too chicken?”

He hit his hands on the table in response. “Shots it is,” he sighed and offered to help Jemma with the drinks.

“You know I’m perfectly capable of getting the drinks myself, Fitz,” she told him. “This isn’t my first time at a bar.”

He gave a small shrug in response, leaning against the bar just like he had done earlier that day in the lab. “Thought I’d keep you company.”

“Well I appreciate the thought but –,” Jemma stopped. “ _Oh no_ ,” she whispered, immediately turned her back to the bar and shrank her shoulders down, covering her face with her hands whilst trying to remain subtle.

Fitz knitted his brows, “Is that –“

“Yes,” Jemma squeaked, shrinking herself down even more.

“I didn’t know he worked here -”

“Well neither did I!” she retaliated in a hushed whisper. “If I knew that I would have gone anywhere else rather than here!” Jemma scrunched her face up. “Oh God,” she groaned under her breath as she could see the man in question out of the corner of her eye.

Fitz leaned further into the bar, an air of innocent smugness about him. “I haven’t seen him since our days at the Academy, maybe we should say hi,” he wondered, but it only earned him a piercing glare from Jemma who clearly wanted to be anywhere other than where she was currently. “I’m kidding.”

Fortunately for Jemma, another bartender approached the pair before the man in question had a chance, allowing Jemma to breathe a sigh of relief as soon as she was able to walk away from the bar having paid for the drinks – leaving Fitz to carry them back to the table.

“Thanks for your help,” he moaned. Before Fitz even had the chance to place the tray of shots on the table, Jemma had already downed the first shot and held another in her hand.

“Wow Simmons,” Trip asked, “you alright?”

Jemma responded with a nod, “Yep,” she said confidently. “Just ready to get this party started.”

Skye didn’t look so convinced, “You sure?” she asked. “You didn’t look alright over there.”

“I’m fine,” she insisted. “I just saw someone rather unexpected, that’s all.”

“Just a _tad_ ,” Fitz said smugly, earning him another piercing stare from Jemma who then downed her second shot of the night. Trip smiled in astonishment.

“Well,” Jemma slid back into the booth, “what are you waiting for? You’re all two shots behind. You don’t want to lose do you?”

Trip shook his head and laughed, “Well I’ll be damned.” Along with Fitz and Skye, he two shot glasses from the tray.

“Bottoms up,” Skye mimicked in her best English accent (leading Jemma to roll her eyes in disapprovingly) and pressed her glasses against Fitz’s and Trip’s.

“Bottoms up,” Trip laughed along with Skye whilst Fitz’s adopted a more British “Cheers,” before they all drank and the fun began.

 

 

 

 

 

It wasn’t long before they all lost track of who was winning the contest, however it was probably obvious who was the most drunk out of the four of them as Jemma had become strangely fascinated with the fact that Trip was bald – asking him if his head ever got cold from being so “ _naked.”_

“Yeah,” he humoured her which earned him a sympathetic “Aww,” from the other three members of his party.

“I’ll lend you some of my hair if you want,” Jemma offered and quickly Skye chimed in with her offer too – leading them to argue over whose hair was most suitable for Trip’s needs. Fitz on the other hand, became somewhat fixated with how the light shined on Trip’s bald head in the dimly lit bar.

“It’s amazing,” he said. “The light is literally reflecting off of your head. Amazing.”

The night seemed to wind away like that. With mindless, laughter filled conversations and meaningless arguments that quickly returned to roaring laughter once more; the cycle repeating itself over and over again in a multitude of drunken formulations between the four of them (and a fly that joined them briefly who Skye named Roger before he flew away, much to her dismay).

Skye’s leant on Jemma’s shoulder as she mourned the loss of Roger, not so quietly singing to _Total Eclipse of the Heart_ along with another rather drunk woman who had taken to the stage during the night’s karaoke segment.

“Hmm,” Jemma hummed to herself.

“Hmm?” Fitz asked, not quite sure what she meant by it.

“I was just thinking,” she explained, “it looks like it would be rather fun to sing up there.”

This seemed to perk Skye up a little, “Yes,” she said almost immediately. “You should!”

Jemma shook her head, “I don’t know. I’m not much of a singer,” but this fact did not seemed to stop Skye’s new found enthusiasm.

“Who cares!” she shrugged. “This night is all about being fun, right?” Jemma groaned indecisively, but Skye continued to cheer on her friend. “Go on, Jemma!”

Jemma rolled her eyes with a faux sigh and a grin, as if she’d made up her mind long ago. “Oh alright then,” she told them and Skye hugged her as she squealed with excitement. “But only if Fitz comes with me.”

Fitz, who had been fairly out of it up until this point, didn’t appear to enjoy this sudden jolt back to reality. “Oh no,” he waved his arms definitely. “Definitely not.”

“Oh come on,” Jemma tugged at his sleeve. “It’ll be fun!”

He scoffed in retaliation, “You said paintballing would be fun, but we both know what happened there.”

“Oh come on, Fitz. _Please_ ,” she pouted, her brow arching slyly. “I know how much you love Mamma Mia.”

It was true, he admitted. He did love Mamma Mia (he loved it a lot – more than he was probably willing to admit to anyone other than Jemma), but even the thought of singing in front of a crowd – no matter how drunk – sent shivers down his spine. “I’ll pass.”

Trip took another swig of his drink and playfully shoved him (a little too hard than Fitz would have liked). “Go on, Fitz!”

“Fitz, Fitz,” Skye chanted from across the table, clapping her hands together hoping that the others would quickly join in (which they did – as well as several others from around the bar who just began to chant his name for the sake of it).

However, his mind was set. “No, I’m not going to do it.”

“Oh come on,” Jemma pleaded one last time but it was little use. “Fine. I’ll go up there myself,” earning her a series of obnoxiously rather loud cheers from Skye.

There wasn’t much hesitation when it came to Jemma and the spotlight, she always seemed to quite fond of the attention anyway. But throwing alcohol into the mix stripped her of her inhibitions, (and the majority of her rational thought) so quite literally anything could have happened.

She gripped the microphone with both hands and a faux smile, standing as tall she could in the light without squinting or falling over in the process. “Hello!” she shouted down the microphone but when no one seemed to respond to her she began to flick it and question in fact it was actually on at all. (The ringing in everyone’s ears seemed to suggest otherwise).

“I am Jem –“ she began to announce but was interrupted by the opening bars to Abba’s _Dancing Queen_. “Oh are we going straight into this? Okay then.”

“Go Jemma!” Skye clapped from the side-line. Trip and Fitz followed suit, though their enthusiasm could not even nearly match Skye’s - who downed yet another shot of vodka in the meantime.

Up on the stage, Jemma began to sway to the music. She looked across the room to where Trip, Fitz and Skye were all sat and waved with drunken enthusiasm. Her swaying became more confident and began to develop into an odd dance that only Jemma Simmons could pull off – drunk or sober.

Jemma became so engrossed within the music that she didn’t realise that she had missed the opening to the song, prompting her to let out a rushed and elongated _“low”_ when she realised her mistake. But she brushed it off with a smile and took a hold of the microphone as if she were a professional.

By the time the chorus came around, Skye, Trip and several other people from around the bar were joining in with the song and waving their arms around as they sung along with her. Skye – with the help of Trip – even waved Fitz’s arms in the air for him for a while when the chorus came back around again, but that didn’t last long and he shrank him arms back down in embarrassment.

Fitz watched Jemma intently as she progressed further into the song. He could tell that she was definitely _hammered_ by the way she stumbled and slurred her words a little, but she was smiling and dancing so there was no reason to stop her now.

Or maybe there was.

“Please Fitz,” she begged him one last time, fluttering her eyelashes. “For me.”

“I’m no singer,” he told her, throwing another shot down his neck as Trip brought over the next round.

Jemma hit him on the shoulder. She was probably going for a friendly tap but it turned out to be a lot harder than they both expected. “You’re lying. I’ve heard you sing before.”

“When?” Fitz pulled a face.

Jemma sipped on her drink innocently. “In the shower, duh.”

 _“You’ve seen me in the shower?”_ Fitz’s throat felt strangely dry.

“No,” she laughed before her face began to scrunch as she thought a little more about her response. “Okay, maybe once –“

_“What?”_

“- but,” she continued, “that doesn’t change the fact you have a very nice voice and,” she looked him right in the eye, “that I would like to sing with you.” A smile began to creep onto Fitz’s lips until she added, “and they’re doing a pairs karaoke contest and I need a partner.”

Fine,” Fitz sighed and downed what was left of his beer, leaving Jemma to clap her hands together gleefully and drag him across to the stage where they signed their names, chose a song and waited their turn.

When Fitz finally took to the stage with Jemma, he had three objectives. 1) Don’t fall over. 2) Keep it casual and pretend you don’t know the dance routine. 3) And whatever you do, do not throw up. No matter how much you want to.

Fortunately for him, none of these things happened. Though unfortunately, he forgot the most important rule when approaching _Our Last Summer_ on karaoke: 4) whatever happens, don’t think about Colin Firth. And if it wasn’t for Fitz’s spontaneous outburst of tears on stage, the pair would have surely won the karaoke contest. Or so Jemma liked to claim anyway.

_(“But he’s just so beautiful, Jemma!”_

_“Who is?”_

_“Colin Firth! He’s just so handsome and I thought about his face and – oh God…”_

_“Fitz, are you crying?”_

_“No.”_

_“Fitz.”_

_“He’s just so pretty it makes me want to cry I can’t help it.”)_

Neither of them could quite remember how they lost Trip or Skye after that. What they could remember however was how insanely hungry Fitz had been (or claimed to have been) and that if he didn’t eat something within fifteen minutes of leaving the club he would probably die - or so he said. Crying apparently made him hungry, so that was how they ended up eating hotdogs by the side of the road not ten minutes after they’d realised Trip and Skye had gone home.

“Fitz, does this hotdog look drunk to you?” Jemma asked, staring intently at the untouched hotdog as if it were one of her specimens from the lab.

He huffed, licking his fingers and staring at Jemma’s hotdog but with a more ravenous intent. “Are you going to eat that?”

“Hmm?”

“I said, are you going to eat that?”

“Oh no,” she handed the hotdog over to Fitz, though still continued to study it. “Be careful,” she warned, “that hotdog looks drunk.”

Fitz scoffed. “I don’t care,” he told her as he tucked into the hotdog. “I’m starving.”

Jemma rolled her eyes. “Suit yourself. Don’t blame me when you get drunk,” she muttered to herself, earning a quizzical glare from Fitz. “What? I’m just saying.”

This earned her another scoff from Fitz, “I forgot how much I hate you when you’re drunk.”

Jemma puffed out her chest in defiance, “I am not drunk, sober I am.”

“ _Sober I am_ ,” Fitz mimicked, putting on his best Yoda voice and wiggling his shoulders. He didn’t notice the ketchup that had seemed to have dribbled from his hotdog to his shirt as he did.

“Oh you’re disgusting.”

“What?” he asked before looking down to his shirt. “Oh,” the stain on his shirt didn’t seem to faze him as much as it did his partner, whose disgust appeared to grow in strength as she watched him lick the sauce from his shirt, earning him an infamous, _“Oh Fitz!”_ as he did. “Well I’m sorry, what else were you expecting me to do?”

“Something less disgusting, like use a napkin maybe?” she produced a spare napkin from her purse and waved it in his face.

“Well maybe, some of us don’t carry spare napkins around with us.” Jemma scoffed. “Oh what now?”

“I hate you when you’re drunk,” she said sourly.

“Well,” Fitz scrunched up his nose, “frankly I just hate you.”

“Oh really?”

“Yes, really.”

Jemma’s eyes widened and her mouth began to form an ‘O’. “Fine then, maybe I won’t talk to you now.”

“Fine then.”

“Fine.”

“Fine.”

_“Fine.”_

They both huffed and turned their backs from one another, arms pressed against their chest as if they were children. They kept trying to sneak glances at the other, just to make sure that the other was still mad so they weren’t the one to break the charade first.

Fortunately for Jemma, it was Fitz who broke this childish silence first. “Jemma,” he whispered whilst holding his stomach, “I don’t feel so good.”

“Me neither,” she admitted, scrunching her nose as if she’d just tasted something sour. “We should probably go home.”

“Yeah, home,” Fitz clapped his hands together. “Jemma, where’s home?”

Jemma flashed him a sympathetic smile before helping him off of the curb. “Come on, you.” She wrapped her arm around his waist to help steady him and stumbled down the street for a couple of steps before realising that they were walking in the wrong direction. “I knew that,” she teased. “I was just checking.”

Fitz rolled his eyes.

 

 

 

 

A short while later, Jemma and Fitz eventually found their way to Jemma and Skye’s apartment. It took them a little longer than they had expected as Jemma had seemingly lost the ability to tell her left from her right (“Not that you could anyway,” Fitz joked lightly), and Fitz seemed to throw up after every ten steps they took, but they found their way in the end. However, their problems had just begun.

“Fitz,” Jemma stated. “The door won’t work.”

“What?”

“The door,” she repeated, pointing at the door to indicate what she meant. “I think it’s broken, Fitz.” He could hear her voice start to raise a few octaves and her pace quicken, “Fitz, I don’t know how to get into my apartment the door is _broken_ and I don’t know what to do.” She pressed her palms against the door and started to push when she saw his quizzical expression. “See?”

“Do you not have your key on you?”

Jemma’s lips pressed themselves into a thin line and her eyebrows furrowed as she thought. She reached into her bag and began to rummage through it, pulling out a concoction of things Fitz wasn’t quite sure how she managed to fit them in their in the first place. At last she pulled out her key triumphantly, and sighed against the doorframe in relief. “That was close,” she admitted and opened the door after one or more unsuccessful attempts.

Jemma and Skye’s apartment was exactly as Fitz expected: organised chaos. In that all of Skye’s things seemed to be thrown everywhere whilst Jemma had appeared to try and keep things organised in some odd manner. Though her efforts hadn’t been entirely successful which made her let out a small “Humph,” before proceeding to her room, leaving Fitz feeling a little awkward as she did.

Though it wasn’t long until Jemma called him from her room. “Could you get me a hand?” she asked.

Fitz walked into Jemma’s room to find her peering through the top of her dress – which was now situated on her shoulders – with her arms sticking out where he head should have been. “I think I’m a tad stuck.”

Fitz chuckled as he crossed the room, “Depends on your definition of a tad.” Jemma threw him a glare. “Or I could just not help?” She rolled her eyes and quietly accepted defeat as Fitz undid the zip of her dress.

 _“What are those?”_ Fitz exclaimed as Jemma’s dress dropped to the floor.

Jemma peered down towards her chest, which was where Fitz seemed to be looking at in some sort of horror. “Those are my breasts, Fitz. They’re perfectly natural and they won’t hurt you. Besides, I am wearing a bra anyway. It’s not like they’re out for the whole world to see.”

Fitz didn’t seem so sure. “They look drunk to me.”

“Stop staring at my boobs, Fitz,” she warned and turned her back on him to place her old Academy t-shirt on.

After coming to the conclusion that yes, her boobs did in fact look a little drunk, Jemma offered to help Fitz with his shirt which he was finding impossible to undo himself.

_(“Jemma, I can’t find the buttons!”_

_“They’re right there, Fitz. On your shirt.”_

_“I can’t undo them. It’s impossible. Look!”_

_“Oh come here.”)_

She threw one of his old shirts on her bed and wandered over to him, slowly unbuttoning his shirt as he watched. “See,” she told him. “It’s not that hard.”

Fitz huffed, “Says the girl who thought the door was broken.”

Jemma paused for a second. “Touché.”

A brief silence hung over the pair as Jemma continued to slowly help Fitz unbutton his shirt (it required a lot more concentration than she first realised – not that she was willing to admit that to Fitz who was watching her intently as she did). Neither of them seemed to regard this sudden silence as awkward – they were far too drunk for that anyway – but they could both tell the silence fell somewhat different.

Fitz began to notice how Jemma’s hair curled behind her ears in messy strands, and how she would keep tucking more hair behind her ears as she became more frustrated with the speed in which the task was being done. She would keep wrinkling her nose as she worked, trying to make it look as if she wasn’t finding it as hard as he had done. Sometimes these loose strands would fall from behind her ear and rest by the side of the face. And when that happened, Fitz was tempted to tuck them behind her ear for her.

Jemma snuck a brief glance at Fitz. He was looking right back at her, half a smile painted onto his lips as he watched her. Nervously, she tucked another loose strand of hair behind her ear. As she did, she could see Fitz’s hand move with the corner of her eye, but he stopped himself before she was really sure what had happened. But even so, she had an idea. And whatever he’d wanted to try and do, she silently wished he had.

Jemma looked back up towards Fitz again. They locked eyes for a moment, suddenly aware of how close to one another they were. And how Jemma’s hands were resting on Fitz’s chest and how they couldn’t stop staring at each other and –

_“Ow!”_

“Oh God, I’m so sorry!” Jemma apologised profusely.

“You headbutted me!”

“Techincally, I didn’t head butt you,” Jemma corrected him. “It was more of a ‘your chin versus my forehead’ butt.”

Fitz held his temple in disgust. “Last time I checked, foreheads and chins were both a part of a person’s head.”

“Well, yes true but –“

“That really hurt, Jemma!”

Jemma buried her head in her hands. “I’m sorry!” she apologised once more. “It was an accident. I didn’t mean – _What was that for_?” Jemma shouted after a pillow hit her face.

“Payback,” Fitz replied smugly with his arms folded across his chest.

Jemma rolled her eyes, “I said I was sorry!”

“Yeah, well –“ Fitz threw another pillow in her direction, hitting her in the stomach.

Jemma shook her head in disbelief, “So that’s how you want to play this?” She threw the pillow back at Fitz, managing to hit him square in the face. “Bullseye!” A grin grew across Fitz’s face as he threw three more pillows at Jemma, telling her that this was war. Jemma was more than happy to oblige. “Oh it’s on,” she grinned back, shielding his throws with another pillow before throwing them right back at him.

The fight continued on either side of Jemma’s room for a few minutes, with pillows being thrown back and forth amidst a far bit of shouting and laughter from the pair. Both of them claimed to be winning – or to be the inevitable victor – yet neither was really keeping score.

“You’re going down, Fitz!”

“Then I’m taking you with me!” he laughed, tripping and falling square onto Jemma’s bed in an attempt to find more pillows to throw in his best friend’s direction.

Jemma didn’t waste the opportunity, running from the other side of the room and diving onto her bed alongside Fitz, hitting him with the pillow she held in each hand as she did. He retaliated accordingly, blocking her blows and trying to hit her whenever he got the opportunity. Ultimately however, Jemma’s fight was too overpowering and he eventually found himself being pinned down by a breathless and giggly Jemma who knew she’d won like she’d set out to do.

“I told you so,” she told him between breaths with a smile plastered across her face.

However, Fitz – ever the fighter – cocked an eyebrow, “This isn’t the end, Simmons. You may have won the battle, but you’ll never win the war.”

Jemma laughed softly, “You keep telling yourself that.” She looked down at her best friend beneath her, who was looking right back at her. They were both panting, slowly getting their breath back as Fitz remained pinned to the bed.

Apart from their laboured breathing, a comfortable silence drew over the pair. Their eyes locked as they grinned at one another, laughing lightly every now and then at one another.

Jemma couldn’t help but notice the blue in Fitz’s eyes. She always knew they were blue – she had known him for over a decade after all – but she had never truly realised how _blue_ they were. She thought that they looked like a part of the sea had been captured in them, because she couldn’t have thought how else they could’ve come to be that colour.

Jemma knew she was staring, and she knew Fitz knew it too. But at that point she ceased to care. Because all she could think about was how truly beautiful Fitz’s eyes were and how his pink lips kept curving into a mischievous smile and how she most definitely wanted to press her lips against them.

So she did.

The kiss wasn’t the most romantic of kisses. More like a peck that lasted longer than a peck should have normally done. Like a preliminary experiment, Jemma told herself. She was testing the waters. Though she wasn’t sure for what.

Jemma watched Fitz as he began to blush, trying to maintain some sort of scowl in the process. “What was that for?” he asked, his face only inches from hers.

Jemma matched his expression, looking equally as confused. “I don’t know. I just wanted to try it, so I did.”

“And?”

“Not bad,” she admitted. “But you taste drunk.”

“I _am_ drunk, Jemma.”

“Oh yeah,” Jemma began to break out into giggles. “I think I might be a tad drunk too.”

Fitz mimicked her with a soft laugh, scrunching up his nose just like she had done. “Just a tad.”

Jemma’s beaming smile and giggles soon began to fade and her sincerity reappeared as if it had never left, making Fitz increasingly aware of how her palms were pressed against his bare chest and how she couldn’t appear to stop staring at it.

“Fitz?”

“Mmm?”

Her voice was quiet, almost a whisper. “Can I kiss you again?” her eyes still refused to meet his.

Fitz’s stomach began to churn, and he could feel a sudden warmth beginning to spread. “Sure,” he said, although his smile was only momentary. “But you might want to give it a second.”

“Why?”

“Because I think I’m going to throw up.”

“Wait, what?”

“Move!”

Jemma couldn’t climb off of Fitz fast enough before he darted across the room and towards the bathroom, promptly throwing up just as he suspected he would. Jemma scrunched her nose up at the sound.

“Are you alright, Fitz?” she asked, but she quickly found her answer when more sounds of retching could be heard from the bathroom. “Fitz?”

It was a few more moments before Jemma heard her name murmured from behind the door of the bathroom, shortly followed by a loud thud that made Jemma’s shoulder’s tense.

“Fitz, are you alright?” she asked as she stumbled towards the bathroom, leaning on the wall as she did since walking happened to make her feel a little queasy.

When she opened the bathroom door, her giggles quickly returned and became full out laughter as she saw her best friend splayed out in a bath tub, a scowl pressed onto his face.

“This isn’t funny, Jemma.”

Her laughter seemed to disagree. “What happened?”

“I was trying to fix the bath, and then I fell in.”

“You just _fell_ in?”

“Yes,” he grumbled as Jemma burst into another round of laughter. “Yes, very funny ha ha. Hilarious.”

“It is,” Jemma giggled before finally supressing her laughter to the best of her ability (meaning that a snigger or two often escaped in the process). “The bath isn’t broken, Fitz.”

Fitz scoffed, “See for yourself.”

Jemma gave a small huff and walked over to the bath. She placed her hand on the tap and began to twist, confident that she would prove Fitz wrong. However when the tap wouldn’t budge, her confident demeanour began to fade.

“See,” Fitz’s expression became one covered with smugness. “Told you.”

Jemma rolled her eyes, adamant not to let Fitz’s smugness grow in strength. “This isn’t right. I’m going to have to dissect something.”

“How are you going to dissect a bath tub?”

She raised an eyebrow, “Who said anything about a bath tub?” Out of the corner of her eye, Jemma could see a look of despair creeping onto Fitz’s face at the mention of a possible dissection. “I’m kidding, Fitz, of course I’m talking about the bath tub. I’m drunk, not stupid.”

Fitz breathed a sigh of relief, “Oh thank God. But Jemma?”

“Mmm?”

“How exactly are you going to dissect a bath tub?”

At this point, Jemma had knelt down and was staring at the ‘broken’ tap intensely. “I have two PHD’s, Fitz. I’ll figure something out.”

It was Fitz’s turn to raise an eyebrow. “But you don’t have a PHD in bath tub dissection.”

“Neither do you.”

“Oh,” Fitz began to sink a little further into the bath. “Well that’s disappointing.”

Jemma didn’t pay attention to Fitz’s sudden realisation, concentrating more on this new project she was intent on solving. She twisted the tap handle again and came up short. She tried again, pulling it with every ounce of strength she had but still there was nothing. She wasn’t quite sure where she was going wrong.

“Jemma?”

“What is it, Fitz?” she moaned, trying to regain her now lost concentration.

“I just realised something,” he told her with a bounce to his tone that soon became light laughter.

“Well?”

“You,” he pointed at her so she knew exactly who he was talking about, “are Doctor _Doctor_ Jemma Simmons. You are _two_ doctors. No just one, _two!_ ” He even held up two fingers to show her how many that was.

Jemma chuckled lightly. “Well, I guess I am.”

“Yeah you are,” he grinned. “And that’s what makes you fantastic.”

Jemma felt her cheeks growing a little redder. She buried her face into her shoulder hoping that Fitz wouldn’t notice. But she had no such luck because Fitz was looking right at her and despite the contradiction, Jemma didn’t want him to stop. She wasn’t sure why. The thought made her head feel fuzzy (or maybe that was just the alcohol talking, she wasn’t sure).

“Doctor Doctor Simmons?”

“Yes Doctor Fitz?”

“Would you do me the honour of joining me in this broken bath?” he held out his hand as an invitation.

Jemma took it with a smile, “It would be my pleasure.”

Despite their intoxication, Jemma found her way into the bath tub easily enough and after some shuffling, they both were soon sat facing each other, giggling in a way they hadn’t done for years, if not ever.

Fitz watched Jemma as she began to recite stories he’d heard a thousand times, laughing with an enthusiasm he was sure he’d never quite heard before, but immediately missed as soon as she stopped to look right back at him.

Over the course of the night, Jemma’s curls seemed to have deflated somewhat and become more messy that precise (probably due to the earlier struggles with getting her dress off). Her lipstick had rubbed off a little and her mascara had run from crying earlier, but Fitz still found her as captivating as ever.

“Fitz?”

“What?”

Jemma dug her chin into her knees, glancing at him from the corner of her eye. “You’re staring.”

His eyes widened as he realised. “Oh sorry,” he turned himself away from her, this time hoping she wouldn’t see the flushes of red that were appearing on his cheeks.

Jemma simply shrugged in response. “Don’t be,” she told him and her knees remained tucked into her chest, “It was just an observation.” Her lips curled into a sleepy smile.

Fitz didn’t have much reason to protest when Jemma decided to lie down beside him. They were both extremely aware of the lack of space between them now (not that there was much space between them in the first place, let alone within the confinements of the bath tub). Their legs were entwined together like vines within the bath’s small frame but neither of them seemed to mind.

“Jemma?”

“Mmmm?”

“Could I –“

She interrupted him with a quick nod before he could even finish his sentence, already well aware of what he was going to say.

Fitz’s mouth crashed into Jemma’s with a little more ferocity than he had anticipated, but neither of them seemed to mind. They felt like they’d waited long enough.

The kiss was rushed and awkward as their lips crashed together in patterns unfamiliar to one another, but they soon managed to find a rhythm that suited them both quickly enough. From then on, the kiss seemed less awkward and rushed but more intimate and passionate – which made Jemma giggle out of the blue.

“What?” Fitz asked, “Why are you laughing?”

She gave a little shrug, laughter still tickling her lips. “Because I’m kissing you. And you’re my best friend.”

“But why is that funny?”

Jemma pouted, “I don’t know. But I like doing it.”

“What, kissing?”

“Yeah,” she confirmed with an elfish grin. “I like kissing you.”

Fitz matched her grin with one of his own, “Well I like kissing you too.”

Jemma brought her hand to Fitz’s neck and began to play with the tufts of hair that splayed from his hairline, rubbing the back of his neck gently with her thumb. His hand rested on her chin and caressed the side of her jaw as she stared right back at him.

Their foreheads were still touching as they lent in for another kiss. This one was much tenderer than the first and contained much more passion. They pulled each other closer as the kiss began to deepen, trying to close the space between them as best as they could (not that there was much left anyway).

When the kiss broke, they held each other for a while and just smiled bashfully at each other, not quite ready to make eye contact yet. Though Fitz could tell that Jemma was tired by the way she kept playing with his spare hand, lacing their fingers together in new and unfamiliar patterns that she wasn’t quite used to yet. She was trying to keep her mind awake, but he knew it wasn’t working when he watched her eyelids slowly begin to droop, only to be snapped back open when Jemma realised what was happening.

“Go to sleep, Jem,” he whispered, still tracing the line of her jaw with his thumb.

But stubborn as always, Jemma shook her head. “I’m not tired,” she told him as she shifted herself closer to him, thinking he wouldn’t notice that her eyes had found themselves to be closed again. “I am awake.”

“Go to sleep,” he repeated, quietly aware the he too was feeling to feel a little tired.

Jemma gave a brief nod, her head now resting in the crook of Fitz’s neck. “Mmkay. I’ll just shut my eyes for five minutes.”

“Okay.”

“And then I’ll be awake, okay?”

He planted a quick kiss on the top of Jemma’s head as he spoke, “Okay, Jemma.”

“But,” she warned with a brief yawn, “you have to promise not to throw up on me for those five minutes.”

“I promise.”

“Pinky promise?”

Fitz squeezed her hand. “Pinky promise.”

“You know you can’t break that?”

“I won’t,” Fitz whispered into her hair, his own eyes starting to droop now. “I promise.”

Jemma pressed a sleepy kiss again Fitz’s neck. “Good.”

“Goodnight, Jemma.”

“Goodnight, Fitz,” she yawned. “But only for five minutes.”

“But only for five minutes.”

 

 

 

 

Trip and Skye arrived at the apartment the morning after, still a little woozy from the night before (and possibly still a little drunk, but neither of them had a clue).

Without exaggerating, everything about Skye’s body hurt. Literally, _everything_ hurt (in her words anyway). She felt as if she’d gone one on one with Mohammed Ali, only to have been then ground up in a blender and spat back out into to become aching mess that she was. In other words, she was incredibly hungover.

Trip had faired a little better. Out of the four of them, he had probably been the least drunk that night, but Skye’s blank memory couldn’t really back that up. In any case, if he was in fact hungover – which she very much doubted he was – he was doing a very good job at hiding it.

The first thing Skye did as she staggered back in was raid the cupboards. She knew Jemma kept aspirin somewhere, but she could never remember where. She made a mental note to try and change that.

After her raid of the kitchen had turned out to be unsuccessful, she threw herself into the bathroom in a desperate attempt to find something that would stop the pounding in her head. But her search was futile and she found nothing.

Quietly, Skye cursed under her breath. She hung her head over the sink for a second, steadying herself as she tried to think where in the hell these pain meds could be because she didn’t have a goddamn clue.

All of a sudden, Skye noticed something out of the corner of her eye. She had to do a double take at first because she wasn’t quite sure what she was seeing was truly there, but to her surprise her vision wasn’t failing her.

A grin plastered on her face, Skye called Trip to the bathroom. Hesitantly, he entered, not sure what to expect from an incredibly hungover Skye calling him to the bathroom, but as soon as he saw what she was pointing at, Trip began to smile too.

Two bodies lay entwined in the bath together, arms wrapped around one another as if they couldn’t pull each other close enough together. Jemma’s head rested the crook of the Fitz’s neck, her hand still entwined with his as they slept somewhat peacefully. Fitz stirred as Trip and Skye watched over them, though remained blissfully unaware of the spectators in the room. His face was still buried in Jemma’s hair.

“Fucking dorks,” Skye muttered under her breath. She hadn’t noticed that Trip had snuck out of the room until he returned with a blanket in his hand. Skye folded her arms in front of her chest as Trip placed the blanket over the sleeping _dorks_ , as Skye had put it. Jemma seemed to shuffle a little as she felt the blanket rest on top of her, pulling it towards her before drifting back to sleep.

Trip cocked an eye at Skye before they both left the room remarkably quieter than when they had first came in, leaving the pair in the bath tub to sleep entwined with one another.

Every so often, after Skye had threatened to tattoo a line on Trip’s head to make him a real life _butthead_ if he didn’t buy her something to ease her hangover, Skye would lean against the doorframe and glance at the pair still asleep amidst one another. Every time, she couldn’t help but smile.

Sometimes she would hear Jemma murmur in her sleep. It was only a whisper, and Skye had to crane hard in order to make sense of what she was saying.

“Five more minutes,” Jemma murmured as she would curl herself towards Fitz. “Just five more minutes.”


End file.
